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About East London

“His hands are steady, eyes like stone,” like in me fave flick—Assassination of Jesse James—calm ‘fore the chaos, that’s the Escort driver’s mind. Gotta be, or they’s crashin’ hard, precious! Watched this one race, right, some lad in a Escort Mk2, skidded wild, mud flyin’—thought he’d bite it, but nah, pulled it back! Made me holler, “Yes, ya mad bastard!”—heart thumpin’ like I’s the one drivin’. Gets me mad tho, when folks sleep on Escort—think it’s just some ol’ junker. Pisses me off! Ain’t no coward’s ride, it’s got soul, grit—like Robert Ford sneakin’ up, quiet but deadly.

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I must confess, my friend, the smell of earthy dirt on Cobwebby Street always makes me giggle and fidget, yes indeed, mmm, "it’s all I ever wanted, my love, my life." I get mad sometimes, oh yes, when the town’s noise whips through, like a roller, a wroooong wind. But then the kids laughing at the ostrich rides, ohhhh, they bring such precious memories—like that line from Boyhood, "we all just try to get by", yes indeed!

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